


Dash Together

by nevertothethird



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Engagement, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertothethird/pseuds/nevertothethird
Summary: AU from 1x06, "Return of the Kane." Veronica has a bad day. A day which is made even worse when she wakes up and discovers she has huge gaps in her memory, friends she doesn't remember making, and future plans she's not sure she wants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imkait](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=imkait).



> Title comes from the Latin word 'concutere' which means to dash together, or shake. 
> 
> Trigger warning (and other notes) at the end.

Veronica Mars’ top ten list of life’s little pleasures is in constant flux. Except for the number one slot. That has, since she was a child, been claimed by getting in the last word. Nothing feels better than sparring with someone and leaving them sputtering, unable to respond. Getting the last word. Number one with a bullet. Followed quickly by ice cream. Of the chocolate variety.  
   
And while she’s not what Veronica would consider a worthy adversary, the joy of getting the last word even applies to interactions with Madison Sinclair.  
   
“Madison, I heard you lost your student aide gig _and_ your student council spot. If I may be so bold as to make a recommendation? On Fridays, Sloppy Joes are your best bet.” With a condescending, _tsk_ , Veronica leaves Madison standing there, no doubt wishing unspeakable harm upon her head.  
   
She can’t help it though. The rush it gives her. The incandescent glow that starts in her toes and zigs up her body. It’s a little about writing a wrong, unmasking an injustice, etc. etc. etc., but has just as much to do with the mess she gets to leave as she steps back into the stream of people in the hallway.  
   
All things considered, this day could have been a lot worse. Now she’s going home to discover whether she has an actual shot at expanding her friend roster to include more than just Wallace. She’ll pick up some poster board, maybe a little glitter, and help Wanda make a new batch of alternative-friendly-campaign propaganda. Veronica’s crafting (and small talk) skills may be a little rusty, but she can still do sociable and pleasant. She thinks. (Hopes.)  
   
As she walks outside, the parking lot half empty of vehicles, she notices a group of skateboarders grinding down a staircase railing. A couple others are doing ollies off the curb. She misses entirely the rogue skateboarder determined to jump his board over one of the lunch tables until he’s directly in her line of sight. By then it’s too late for her to jump out of the way and, if his shout is any indication, he’s not in control either as he flies through the air.  
   
Her head hits the pavement, a sharp and almost nausea inducing pain radiating out from her temple, and in that instant she reorders her list of _least_ favorite things. Number one with a bullet?  
   
Skateboarders.  

* * *

Her head is throbbing and Veronica is unable to remember exactly what happened. Then she sees the flash of a skateboarder, hears the sound of her head hitting the sidewalk, and groans. _God. The 09ers are going to be playing that video on a loop for the rest of my high school career._ Through her eyelids she registers bright light filtering through the blinds and she screws her eyes shut, flopping an arm over her face.  
   
With the other hand she bats around the nightstand for her phone, planning to text her dad and demand he both lower the blinds and come get Backup out of her bed. She loves the pup, but she’s recovering from a traumatic brain injury and he’s taking up more than half the bed, per usual. The duvet surrounding her is cozier and puffier than she remembers and she vaguely wonders if it’s like food tasting better when you’re hungry – do blankets become cozier when you feel as awful as she does? In her fog, she misestimates the height of her nightstand and knocks her phone off the table. It clatters loudly on the floor, which is only remarkable because her carpeted floors usually muffle all sound. If her phone hitting carpet is as loud as it is, she doesn’t want to think about what the sound of her dad making breakfast will do to her head.  
   
“Fuck,” she whispers. Then cringes at the sound of her voice. “Ow.”  
   
Backup shifts behind her, his body moving even closer. In an act of coordination she wasn’t expecting from him, one of his legs and paws drape over her torso. She huffs out a breath, amused despite her current state. For one second she considers getting up and out of bed, but she’s snuggled with her dog, her bed feels more luxurious than it ever has, and she just wants to sleep.  
   
“How’s your head?”  
   
Her eyes pop open and her brain does it best to match the voice to the person who is apparently in her bed. It’s not her dad, and it’s not Wallace, and that is the complete list of men she trusts. The voice is sleep graveled. She looks down to confirm that, _nope_ , definitely not a talking dog snuggled up behind her. There is a bare, decidedly male arm, draped over her middle. It’s tanned with freckles barely visible under the smattering of dark hair. She also makes out a few odd, puckered, circular marks on the inside of the arm.  
   
_Move, Veronica. Knee him in the balls._  
   
She moves to jerk her elbow back and into the man’s stomach but the movement shoots a pain through her head and she winces. _Right. Head injury._  
   
“Easy, Sonny. You’re not the only one regretting last night’s choices.”  
   
And it’s the mocking, easy drawl that helps her identify the man behind her. She sits up, ignoring the lancing pain in her skull. She discovers, mercifully, that she’s not naked. What she is wearing, however, is little comfort: an oversized shirt she doesn’t recognize, men’s athletic socks that have bunched around her ankles, and her underwear. She swallows, trying to ignore both the roar in her ears and the pain in her head.  
   
“Logan. What the fuck am I doing here.”  
   
“Shhh. Early.”  
   
She jumps out of the bed and reaches for the sweatpants she finds there, pulling them on and rolling the band over several times so she doesn’t trip on the legs. Logan is leaning back in the bed now, a sleepy smile on his face as he dozes, hands propped behind his head.  
   
“I am not even close to kidding, Logan.” She picks up her phone from the floor – hardwood, not carpet like her room – clutches it to her chest and spares a thought to wonder where they are. It’s not a room she’s ever been in, and that’s even more concerning. Where did her take her? “How did I get here?”  
   
He must hear the edge of panic in her voice because he opens his eyes, and looks at her with – _what kind of fucking sick joke is this? –_ concern?  
   
“Veronica, what’s wrong?”  
   
“What did you do to me?”  
   
He shoves the covers aside, jumping out of bed and cautiously approaches her. Logan takes one tentative step and then another. She flinches, balling her hands into fists.  
   
“Nothing happened to you, okay? We were celebrating and you had a little too much to drink. We both did. We texted your dad, told him you were staying with me, then we took a cab home. Everything is okay. You’re safe.”  
   
So that’s it. She suffered a concussion and then somehow ended up with Logan? And then he plied her with alcohol. It’s a miracle she’s not dead. Bile rises up in her throat and she swallows it down.    
   
He takes another step towards her. “Stop!” she yells, and pushes hard at his chest.  
   
He immediately takes a step back and nods. “Okay. You’re okay,” he repeats.  
   
Nothing about this is okay. She doesn’t know whose clothes she’s wearing. This room is a mystery to her – _did the Echolls family renovate the pool house?_ – and Logan is here but he’s _not-Logan._ She can’t figure out how she knows that. How can he be Logan and _not-Logan_ at the same time?  
   
“Stay away from me,” she yells, and he takes a step back, his worry so tangible she can almost feel it reaching out to her.  
   
“Veronica, take a deep breath. Tell me what’s going on.”  
   
Her eyes dart across the room and she sees her purse sitting on the dresser. She charges past him and when he reaches for her arm, she pulls back violently. “No!” Logan is startled, stunned into silence, his mouth hanging slightly open as he watches her. “When I find out exactly what you did, what you did to me, I will make you pay.”  
   
His eyes darken at that, his brow knit together in confusion and hurt. She expects him to lash out or mock her, but all he does is stand there in silence as she grabs her purse and runs out of the room. She doesn’t spare a thought for the fact that a part of her knows the layout of this house or that she’s not wearing shoes.  
   
As she runs outside she reaches into her purse for her keys. The weight of the bag is unfamiliar on her shoulder but that’s the least of her concerns. She pulls the keys out and frowns at the key ring. Besides the keys she recognizes – her apartment, her PO box, Mars Investigations office – there’s also a yellow X-Terra keychain and a number of others that are unfamiliar. The key to the Le Baron is missing.  
   
_This is sophisticated for even 09er torture._ _They, what, drugged me and stole my car, then decided to mock me with the X-Terra keychain?_  
   
That familiar feeling of bile rises up again and she somehow convinces her feet to keep moving. It’s only a matter of time until Logan’s friends show up for some ungodly purpose. One of the unfamiliar items on the keyring is a fob. She presses the unlock button, not quite knowing what will happen. A silver Saturn SUV lights up and she runs for it, locking the doors as soon as she’s inside. The seat doesn’t need adjustment and she drives away from the strange house, barely taking a breath until she’s confident no one followed her. It’s not until after she’s driven for a good fifteen minutes that she realizes she has no idea where she is.  
   
She pulls into a gas station and plugs her apartment address into the GPS, frowning at the directions it spits out. The only good thing about this is that the terror and adrenaline from the morning have caused the pain from her concussion to fade.  
   
Nothing about what is happening makes sense. In what world would her dad let her leave the apartment after she sustained a head injury? Looking around the inside of the car – the discarded Starbucks cups, the stack of textbooks on the floor of the backseat, and the novelty fuzzy dice hanging from her rear view mirror – these things all feel like hers. How did her stuff get inside someone else’s car? _And what the fuck am I doing in Encinitas?_  
   
Her cell phone rings, another unfamiliar detail as she hears the ringtone, and sees it’s Logan calling. She wants to scream at the phone – at this protracted torture he apparently dreamed up. His caller ID picture is Logan as she knows him – ugly ass orange shirt, frosted hair, puka shells – but the photo bears little resemblance to the _not-Logan_ she just ran away from. The question she asked earlier repeats again in her mind. _How can he be Logan and not-Logan at the same time?_ She rejects the call, and tosses her phone back into her bag. Her dad must be out of his head with worry, but she needs to figure out what is going on before she calls him.  
   
She buries her face in her hands, willing herself to take a series of calm, steadying breaths. Panicking might make her feel better in the short term but it won’t solve anything. She rubs her left hand down her face in frustration and stops when she feels something cool drag across her cheek. Before she opens her eyes and looks further, she knows it’s just going to be another piece of information that serves to confuse even more. She takes another deep breath and rotates her hand, resting her palm on her knee. Winking up at her in the sunlight is a large solitaire diamond.  
   
“What the fuck is happening?” she whispers. She throws open the car door and throws up on the pavement below.

* * *

Veronica parks the Saturn next to her dad’s car at Sunset Cliffs and takes another deep breath. After her unfortunate episode in the gas station parking lot, Veronica searched the car, hoping to find some clue as to what was happening to her. In addition to the text books, coffee cups, and other predictable car items,  she discovered a small duffle bag that a better, smarter Veronica would prepare to go on last minute stakeouts. Black clothing, shoes, granola bars, water, instant coffee, and a spare taser. If that didn’t confirm it, the registration for the vehicle in the glove compartment would have.  
   
The contents of her purse only added to her confusion. For one, she found the box for the engagement ring, which meant the engagement was relatively new.  
   
_“We were celebrating_.” That’s what Logan said to her.  
   
The wallet was her style but made of real leather rather than her Fossil knock-off which meant she acquired money in this iteration of her life. Or, the thought niggled at her, someone with money purchased it for her. _Logan._ In addition to his one call, he texted her several times. Texts she couldn’t bring herself to read. With some space and time to breathe she concluded that whatever led to her being in that bed with Logan, she wasn’t physically assaulted. In the bathroom of the gas station she brushed her teeth, took off her sweat pants, and examined her arms, legs and thighs to confirm she wasn’t held down. Despite the momentary relief this brought her, her skin still itched – waking up with no memory was something she thought she would never experience again.  
   
She feels a little better having gone through a McDonald’s drive through and mainlining a large coffee and two sausage egg muffins on her drive to her dad’s. The way the grease eases the roiling of her stomach and pounding of her head, coupled with her performance in the gas station parking lot, leads her to believe Logan was right. She was hungover. _Maybe I didn’t actually have a concussion?_  
   
All she wants to do is sleep. Something that Veronica with a concussion could not do, but Veronica with a hangover will definitely take advantage of.  
   
The instant she opens the apartment door, her dad is on his feet and pulling her into his chest. His arms wrap around her, and it takes everything she has to not collapse her weight fully into him. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she hugs him tight.  
   
“Hey, dad.”  
   
He chuckles, a puff of air against the crown of her head, and loosens his hold slightly. “Hey, kid.”  
   
They stand like that for close to a minute before he pulls away. “Logan called.” She looks up at him, her eyes blinking, and tries to keep her face blank. “Several times, actually.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
“Are you going to talk to him?”  
   
She shakes her head and hugs him again.  
   
“What did he do?”  
   
Flashes of the Logan she remembers run through her mind – making fun of her mom, teasing her about Troy – but she shakes her head. _I don’t know what he did._ She doesn’t answer and eventually her dad sighs, pulling her away from him. “Honey –“  
   
“Dad. I can’t right now. I just want to sleep.”  
   
He places his hands on her shoulders and stares down at her. She stares back. He’s so focused on reading her that it gives her time to do the same thing - both to him and to their apartment. Something catches her attention over his shoulder – an unfamiliar framed print on the bookshelf. She steps away from her dad to take a closer look and squeezes her eyes shut once she takes it in. It’s her high school graduation, apparently. She’s hugging Wallace – _at least Wallace is real! –_ and a girl with red streaks in her hair.  
   
_I’m missing two years of my life. Probably more than that._  
   
“Veronica?” She turns around and it’s then that she finally notices the moving boxes in the center of the living room. There’s already a number of pictures removed from the wall, the outline of dust marking where they used to hang.  
   
“You’re moving.”  
   
“Up until this morning, you were too.”  
   
“Where’s Backup?”  
   
“He was going nuts. Rosie took him to the dog park.”  
   
_Rosie?_  
   
She shakes her head and steps away from him. “I need to sleep.” She shuts her bedroom door behind her and, sure enough, the space is also littered with boxes. There are answers in these boxes and throughout this room, but she’s barely holding it together. She lays down, pulling the covers up and over her head. All she can hope is that when she wakes up her life will make sense again.

* * *

She wakes to the sound of raised voices coming from the living room. Her head feels substantially better than it did that morning and she takes another second to savor the peace of her bed. It’s all wonderfully familiar – the duvet cover and scent of her dad’s laundry detergent. It’s the sound of her name that encourages her to sit up and, sure enough, the moving boxes are still there in the center of her bedroom.  
   
_Not a nightmare, after all._  
   
Before she even opens the door, she knows she’s going to find Logan in her living room.  
   
“Mr. Mars, please let me talk to her.”  
   
“She’s sleeping, son. I know you’re hurting right now, but –“  
   
At the creak of the door, both Logan and Keith turn to look at her.  
   
“Hi, sweetie,” her dad says, a consoling smile on his face.  
   
“How long was I out?”  
   
“A couple hours.”  
   
“Oh.”  
   
Her dad looks between her and Logan. “Logan’s here,” he says needlessly.  
   
She nods at that, her eyes downturned to the carpet in front of her. She folds her hands together and notices, again, the engagement ring on her left hand. It’s not something she’s able to even begin to understand, but she knows Logan gave her the ring. That apparently he proposed last night, and she said yes, and he gave her this ring. She has no idea what year it is, or where she was planning to move to, but she knows she can’t wear it. She starts to twist it off her finger and a muffled groan has her looking up to meet Logan’s stare. He’s bigger than she remembers him being. More cut than he was junior year. His cheeks have lost some of their roundness but aside from that, everything about him is softer. There’s no malicious glint in his eye and she wonders where it went. Did he lose it? Did she steal it from him? Was it even there in the first place?  
   
She steps towards him and hands him the ring. He refuses to take it. He stands unmoving, but slowly shakes his head. “Veronica –“  
   
She interrupts him. “I made a mistake.”  
   
“I’m going to step out for a moment.”  
   
“No, dad, it’s okay.” He ignores her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and grabbing his keys before leaving the apartment, shutting the door behind him.  
   
“Veronica, nothing happened last night. We both got a little drunk, went out for dinner and dessert, then we came home and slept. That’s it.”  
   
_Home._ “I was going to move in with you?” It’s such an absurd notion she laughs, forcing the ring into his hand. “Logan, who are we kidding?”  
   
Her hand is suspended in mid-air for what feels like hours, but eventually he grabs the ring from her, shoving it deep in his pocket. He rocks back on his heels, his face contorting into something so unlike the softness she saw earlier. “Ah, yes. I should have known. The retreat is so familia. Don’t you ever get sick of yourself?”  
   
“Don’t you?”  
   
“Every single day,” he spits out. And it’s not the same, the look in his eye, as the one he wore when he made fun of her mom, but it has shades of familiarity. “Guess we played at being normal and well-adjusted for long enough.”  
   
He turns around and opens the door to leave. Something deep within her feels lost and she steps towards him. “Logan, I’m sorry.” It feels true, but also ridiculous. The last time she really remembers seeing Logan, her Logan, she dropped a Lunchable on his desk in the journalism room.  
   
“For when Wanda wins and takes all your little Pirate Points away. The Pepperoni Pizza isn’t bad.” He made a predictable food stamps joke and she slow clapped at his half-assed attempt. The look of disdain on her face only seemed to delight him more.  
   
And now here she is, giving him back an _engagement ring_.  
   
She shakes her head. “I can’t.” She doesn’t even understand it herself. All she knows is she woke up in a life she doesn’t understand with a Logan she doesn’t know. He’s not the Logan from before Lilly’s death – all brotherly affection, and sharp elbows, and even sharper wit. He’s also not the Logan from just earlier this week – mocking and baring his teeth, satisfied only when she bares hers. This is someone she doesn’t know.  
   
He nods, like he expected her answer. “We made it two years this time. I guess I should be grateful.”  
   
_This time?_  
   
All she wants to do is ask him about the other times. Explain she can’t be engaged to him because she doesn’t remember how they started dating. Or when her hair got as long as it did. Or why her dad calls him ‘son’ with quiet affection in his voice. She needs to know what’s happening to her.  
   
He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact. “I’ve got that thing in San Diego all day tomorrow and Sunday, which, I’m guessing you’re not planning to go to anymore?” He looks down at her, eyes a little hopeful despite the ring in his pocket and the words they exchanged.  
   
She shakes her head. “No.”  
   
“Well, stop by and grab your stuff any time.” He looks back for one fleeting moment. “Take care of yourself, Veronica.” Then he’s gone.  
   
She wants to yell – “I don’t know who you are!” – at his retreating form but the words remain lodged in her throat. After she’s certain he’s gone she does yell in frustration, the sound bouncing off the walls of the living room. She charges into her room, flicking the lights on and opening all the blinds. She needs some fucking answers.

* * *

Veronica spends the next several hours sorting through the contents of her room. When her dad pops in with a sandwich and potato chips, leaving them on her desk, she says something about purging her junk before she actually starts to pack. He stands in the doorway, watching as she starts to throw items she doesn’t recognize and can’t imagine purchasing herself, in a box for Logan.  
   
“Sweetie, you okay?”  
   
She might not know how she got here, or how this is happening, but if her past few years of experience translate to this reality, her dad will accept a half-answer. Their relationship these days operates under a carefully constructed cycle of reveal and obstruct.  
   
“I’m fine, dad,” she answers, tossing a few mix CDs in her garbage box. When she doesn’t hear him leave, she looks over her shoulder and back up at him. He’s staring at her with that shrewd furrow to his brow. After a few seconds she realizes he’s not satisfied with her answer and takes a second to ask herself how she’s actually doing. “I’m confused. Not sure what I feel. I’ll figure it out.”  
   
He nods. While she didn’t reveal much more, he seems to take it as an honest reply. “Of course you will. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Rosie’s? She’d love to see you.”  
   
She shakes her head. “No thanks. Tell her I said hi. And not to feed Backup human food. He’s going to get fat.”  
   
He laughs at that and it comforts her at the same time it makes her miss the father with all the years of history she knows. She’s decided as she sorts through _THIS-Veronica’s_ belongings that it’ll be easier if she thinks of this life as another character – an Amber, or Kim – that she pretends to be. Except, the character is herself.  
   
Once she hears the front door close, she fishes a piece of paper out of her bra and unfolds it, writing down yet another question to find the answer to:  
   
_Rosie and dad? Moving in together?_  
   
She’s already sussed out that Rosie is what her dad calls his girlfriend, Roseanna, but she doesn’t know how long they’ve been together or where they met. She pauses and writes down another question.  
   
_Do I like her?_  
   
Some of the answers to questions on her list have come easier than others. The freakishly organized computer folders filled with photos come in extremely handy. The girl with red streaks is apparently another former Neptune High student named Mac, and she’s in dozens of photos alongside Veronica and Wallace. One Veronica determines is from junior year, due to the length of her hair, but they also attended some sort of formal event together at the Neptune Grand, which Veronica can’t quite place. Through all the folders and all the years, Logan vanishes for months at a time and then reappears. There’s a folder filled with photos of just the two of them during the summer after her senior year of high school – Logan surfing, the two of them dozing in a hammock, Logan pressing a kiss to her cheek.  
   
Much to her embarrassment, there doesn’t really seem to be a stretch where _THIS-Veronica_ goes without a significant other. There’s Logan, then strangely enough Duncan (which makes her laugh and cringe and feel a little wistful), then Logan again, a guy with floppy hair she tracks down in a Hearst directory, a short-lived romance with a med student named Eric, and then coming back around to Logan again.  
   
Logan who, she confirms, was the person she intended to move in with. She pauses, her pen poised over the paper. One more question.  
   
_Where am I going to live?_  
   
She folds the paper back up and hides it in her bra, then reaches for a folder on the desk. It’s filled with acceptance letters to college. _Hearst. Stanford. UCLA. Nothing too surprising._ The surprises come as she continues reading: grad program acceptance letters. _Stanford. UC Berkley._ Apparently this Veronica was keen to study Developmental Psychology and had applied for deferred enrollment.  
_So living with Logan was temporary. Why did I defer enrollment? What was I going to do until grad school started? And was Logan planning to come with me?_  
   
There’s a lot she’s figured out simply by staying inside her room. She knows the names of all the key people in her life – it’s a circle not much larger than the one from the reality she left – and the general flow of her life. The invitation to a grad party she’s throwing with Wallace confirms she’ll be graduating from Hearst in less than three weeks. The finer points she’ll need to discover by asking questions and feigning innocence. She lays back on the carpet and closes her eyes.  
   
“I’m 22-years old. I’m about to graduate from college. My best-friends are Mac and Wallace. I’m going to grad school at Stanford.” She opens her eyes and looks around the room then fishes out the list again.  
   
_Photography?_  
_Work for dad?_  
   
Those questions are going to take some time. An entire wall in her bedroom is covered in an intricate mosaic of photos Veronica assumes that _THIS-Veronica_ took. The composition of some is so finely detailed she has a hard time believing it’s actually her work.  
   
She puts the list away and reaches for her phone, scrolling through her contacts.  
   
“I’m Veronica,” she whispers to herself. “This is my life.” The phone rings three times.  
   
“Hey Veronica.”  
   
She takes a second, trying to link the voice she’s hearing for the first time with the pictures she’s seen.  
   
“Veronica?”  
   
“Sorry, Mac. I’m here.”  
   
“No. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.”  
   
She frowns. “Why are you sorry?”  
   
There’s silence for a beat and then, “Well, you know? Um…”  
   
Veronica sighs. “Logan called you.”  
   
“Yeah. He didn’t say much.”  
   
“How’d he sound?”  
   
“Sad. Angry.”  
   
Veronica closes her eyes, trying to remember the Logan who was her friend for those few years. “So, the usual.”  
   
Mac chuckles at that and it causes Veronica to smile just a little. “Pretty much. Sounds like he’s planning to get his brood on.”  
   
“Yeah.” _We couldn’t have just stayed engaged? Right?_ She hits her palm against her forehead. _Of course not._ “He’s leaving for that thing in San Diego tomorrow,” Veronica says.  
   
“What thi – oh, shit. That’s this weekend?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“He said he only wanted you to be there, so I kind of forgot about it. Shit. I’ll get ahold of Dick and tell him to go. It’s his kind of thing so he won’t make it weird. Actually, give me a second and I’ll text him right now.”  
   
“Sure.”  
   
Veronica’s brain pings around every detail of what Mac just revealed. She opens her laptop, types in ‘San Diego,’ the dates of the upcoming weekend, but she stalls on the third search term. _What would be Dicks’s ‘kind of thing?’_ She thinks of breasts, beer, partying, but none of those are things a person would invite their fiancé, and only their fiancé, to.  
   
_Maybe_ \--, she thinks. Veronica types in ‘surfing,’ and hits enter. The first search result is a link to an amateur surfing competition.  
   
_Logan is competing this weekend. And he only wanted me to be there._  
   
“Okay, I’m back.”  
   
“Do you want to go too?” Veronica asks.  
   
“Ordinarily yes, but I expect you have a reason for calling me.”  
   
“Yeah,” she says, suddenly unsure. Were they these types of friends? “I need to get my stuff from Logan’s house tomorrow.”  
   
Mac sighs loudly and for some reason it causes Veronica’s eyes to prickle with tears. “Are you sure about this, Veronica?”  
   
“I gave him back the ring. I better be sure.”  
   
“He proposed?!”  
   
_Shit. Last night’s celebration did not include the friend group. Got it._  
   
“Um. Last night, actually.”  
   
“Goddamn, Veronica.”  
   
“That about sums it up.”  
   
She types ‘Logan Echolls Surfing’ into her search bar while she waits for Mac to speak again.  
   
“Want me to come over?”  
   
“Not tonight. I have something I need to take care of. But pick me up tomorrow?” She figures it’ll be easier than trying to figure out wherever it is Mac lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: In the second scene of the fic, there is an unfounded suspicion of sexual assault. Veronica wakes up in an unfamiliar situation and thinks she was drugged, but this does not prove to be the case. 
> 
> AU from 1x06. I play a little fast and loose with the 1x06 timeline, so you kind of have to imagine the events of 1x06 taking place over the span of an additional 4-5 days. Okay? 
> 
> Second (and final) chapter will be posted by next week!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica's brain might not remember being in love with Logan but if the current fluttering in her stomach and lightheadedness is any indication, her heart certainly does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Reminder: I am playing the fastest and the loosest with the timeline in 1x06. (And also general medical facts.)
> 
> 2\. Remember back in March when I said this chapter would be posted _next week_? LOL.
> 
> 3\. The biggest of thanks to [susanmichelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMackenzie/profile) for the beta.

“Veronica Mars?”

Veronica looks up from her phone at the nurse standing in the waiting room holding a clipboard. She slips her phone into her pocket and follows the nurse into the back room. Through the requisite tests – blood pressure, pulse, height and weight, medical history – she continually reminds herself to stay calm. Answers are the balm to all of life’s problems. All Veronica needs is answers.

She sits on the examination table, waiting for the doctor to see her, and recalls the events of the day in a repeating loop. Waking up with Logan wrapped around her – his presence calming enough that she slept through the night. Her running from him. His stricken face as she fled. Her dad’s quiet support that felt familiar but also new. Discovering new details about _THIS-Veronica_ who is so much her but also a mystery. She reaches under her thigh for her list and grabs a pen from the counter:

_Am I happy here?_

It’s the question that eats at her. And her slow building realization is terrible: every piece of evidence she’s gathered indicates _THIS-Veronica_ is happy.

There’s a quick rap on the door and Veronica shoves her list in her back pocket as the doctor enters.

“Veronica? Thanks for waiting.”

“No problem.” She knew going to an Urgent Care on a Friday night would likely lead to a long wait (all those objects stuck up noses under the watch of clueless babysitters), but what other choice did she have? I mean, she considered just talking to her dad about it – _but yeah,_ not _happening._

“I’m Dr. Jacobs. Jennifer tells me you’re experiencing gaps in your memory?”

Veronica snorts. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Dr. Jacobs smiles at her, her round face warm and open. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

And Veronica does. Starting with the last thing she remembers from that day at Neptune High – the skateboarder – until the present moment where she is sitting on an examination table.

“Do you remember what happened right after you hit your head?” Dr. Jacobs asks.

Veronica shakes her head. “No. Do you believe me?”

“The brain is a very delicate thing, Veronica.” She pauses to type a quick note into the computer. It does not escape Veronica’s attention that Dr. Jacobs didn’t _really_ answer her question. “We’re still waiting for Neptune Memorial to send over your medical records. I also want you to get some tests done. MRI, maybe a cat scan. Until I get the results I can only tell you what _may_ be happening.”

“These tests cheap?” Dr. Jacobs raises an eyebrow and Veronica nods. “That’s what I thought. What do you think is happening, then?”

“Five years ago, you likely suffered a very severe concussion. Now, the brain can and often does recover from that kind of trauma but never entirely. You probably already suffer amnesia surrounding the event. There are parts of the original accident you’ll never remember.”

“Well that was _then_ ,” Veronica interrupts. “What about now?”

“Is there anything in your life right now causing you stress?”

Veronica laughs. It’s a ridiculous question, both for the reality Veronica remembers and the one in which she’s currently existing.

“One or two things. Let’s see,” she says, ticking each item off on her fingers as she speaks. “I’m apparently graduating from college in a few weeks, moving out of the place my dad and I have lived for the past six years, I start grad school in January, have no idea what I’m going to do until then, and my boyfriend proposed last night.”

“ _’One or two,’_ she says.” Dr. Jacobs stops typing notes into the chart to smile at her. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, uh. I broke up with my boyfriend – fiancé? ex-fiancé? – this morning.”

Dr. Jacobs nods, typing her final notes and then turns around to face Veronica. “Right now your brain is reacting to the amount of stress you’re under in a rather unfortunate way. I believe it’s trying to protect you, and in doing so has made it hard for you to access your long-term memory. Your short-term memory does not appear to be affected in any way.”

“So, what do I do?”

“Make an appointment with your doctor, let him or her know what’s going on, and then take some time off. I can write a letter explaining the situation to your grad program.”

Veronica nods. “Okay.”

“Where are you going?” Dr. Jacobs asks.

“Home, I guess.”

“No, I mean which grad school? Who should I address the letter to?”

Veronica hesitates for a second. _If I don’t go, what am I going to do instead?_ “Actually, I don’t need the note.”

“Are you sure?” Veronica doesn’t respond, and Dr. Jacobs reaches out to pat her knee. “Well, in the meantime, spend time with people who know you and try to relax.”

“That’s it?”

“Unfortunately, Veronica, that’s it. The vast majority of amnesia cases, if they can be fixed, fix themselves. There are therapies and exercises you can do, of course, to try and retrieve the memories. Your doctor will help you with those. But if the cause of this is psychological stress, I say remove the stress and the memories should return.”

“What should I tell people?” Veronica asks.

“That’s up to you.”

Veronica usually loves being in control but this is one decision she wishes someone would make on her behalf.  

* * *

It’s during the last trip out to Veronica’s car that Mac finally asks a question related to the craziness of the day. They kept the conversation light both through the drive to Encinitas and the packing process. Apparently the weekend before the two of them attended a midnight showing of _The Jerk_ and Mac talks for a good fifteen minutes about all the ways it was both better and worse than she remembered. It doesn’t take much more for Veronica to understand why _THIS-Veronica_ considers Mac to be such a good friend.

“Does Logan know you’re doing this?”

Veronica nods. “I texted him. Figured it’s the least I could do considering I just blew up his life.”

“He okay?”

She shrugs. _No. He’s heartbroken._ She knew that was the case as soon as she received his _‘So I guess this is really happening’_ text in response.

“You think you’re making the wrong decision.” Despite Veronica’s growing appreciation for Mac she doesn’t like the feeling of someone she doesn’t really know being so sure of how she’s feeling.

Veronica shrugs again and shuts the hatch of her car. “I’m doing the best I can here.” It comes out a bit more defensive than intended.

“So where are you going to live?” Mac asks. _A merciful change of topic._

Veronica’s given that question a little thought but hasn’t told anyone her plan yet. “I think I’m going to call the apartment manager. See if I can stay until January.” When she was apparently going to leave for grad school.

“If you want, you can stay with me when we get back from our trip. That way you only have to extend the lease for a couple months.”

_Our trip?_

“Okay,” she says. That sinking feeling returns – another huge aspect of her life she doesn’t understand – but Veronica nods anyway. “I’ll let you know.”

Mac waits outside while Veronica goes back into the house for one last check and to drop off her key. Once inside Veronica pulls out her list to add another question.

_Going on a trip with Mac to where? And for how long?_

There’s a frisson of anxiety she feels at the thought. Is she really considering going on a trip with someone she, for all intents and purposes, basically only met four hours prior?

Veronica slips the page of questions back into her bra and wiggles the key to Logan’s house off her key ring. She’s gotten to see every corner of the house while they packed and Veronica hates to say it, but she loves it. She loves the natural light, and the way you can smell the ocean, and the grays and greens in the living room. The dark wood and blues in the bedroom. And _THIS-Veronica_ must have also loved it because there are boxes upon boxes of her belongings now in the back of the Saturn. Books, and clothes, another stakeout bag, pictures of her and her dad, stacks of pictures and proofs, rolls of film in a box marked “to be developed.” On the nightstand she found a horseshoe pendant necklace, the _Tiffany and Co._ markings visible. She considered leaving it behind but instead looped it around her neck. It felt significant - like it was maybe more than a necklace.

There’s a framed print on the end table in the living room that gave Veronica pause multiple times. She can’t say whether it belongs to her or Logan so she decides to leave it behind. If it’s hers then Logan will undoubtedly see leaving it behind as an act of cruelty – a tactic to torture him. But, if it actually belongs to Logan, she wants to leave it. Maybe it’s naïve, but she wants him to have the image of the two of them snuggled together on the beach.

It’s the thing that’s been nagging at Veronica all afternoon. _THIS-Veronica_ clearly loved him. The Veronica she is now is willing to pretend she and Mac are good friends. So what is the blockage in her heart preventing her from doing the same with Logan? Dr. Jacobs told her to spend time with people who know her — shouldn’t Logan be one of those people?

She places her key on the counter. A part of her wishes she could stay in the openness and comfort of this space, but she won’t.

“That everything?”

Veronica turns around and, for maybe the first time, she’s able to give Mac a completely honest answer. “I have no idea.”

Mac chuckles and slings an arm around her shoulder. “Yeah. I figured.”

She takes another long look around the room, and maybe the stress of the day is finally catching up because she feels her eyes well. “Veronica was happy here,” she says, mostly to herself.

If Mac finds it strange she’s chosen that moment to talk in third person, she doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to nudge her affectionately. “Yeah. You were.” She can see the hesitation on Mac’s face when she turns. “Veronica —”

“Don’t Mac. Please.” Veronica takes a deep breath and then stands up a little straighter, shaking her shoulders out as she takes a deep breath. “So, our trip –“ she starts and then stops again. If she was going on a long, extended trip, what would she have been doing three months before it?  

“Don’t worry, Bond. I’ll take care of everything.”

Once back in the car, Veronica closes her eyes and leans her head back against the seat. “So when we go where we’re going —”

“Are we talking in code now?”

“No, I — it’s been a weird day. Sorry. Not sure why I phrased it like that.”

“I figure Budapest and Warsaw are a given. But then there’s Berlin, Kiev, maybe Minsk. I had a little too much vodka the night we decided to go so our itinerary is a bit fuzzy.”

_We’re doing all of Eastern Europe?_

“I’ve always wanted to see Prague.”

There’s a stretch of silence and Veronica turns her head to find Mac shooting her furtive glances as she navigates the car onto the freeway.

“What?” Veronica asks.  

“I know you want to see Prague.”

Veronica shrugs, doing her best to remain calm even as her heart beats loudly in her chest. She clearly messed up. “Of course you do. I forgot.”

Mac ignores her. “Prague is the reason for this trip. You said you wanted to be reckless in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.”

Veronica stares out the front windshield, not meeting Mac’s eyes. “Right”

“You don’t remember?”

“I do now. I forgot for a second.”

“Veronica, what is going on?”

“Nothing.” She raises her chin and clenches her jaw. “I’m fine.”  

“I’m guessing you also don’t remember Logan was going to help us plan the trip? I know something’s going on. What happened?” After several responseless seconds Mac sighs. “What are you doing the rest of the night?”

Veronica shakes her head. “I need to call the apartment manager. And talk to my dad. And unpack. But those things make my head hurt.”

“Well, let’s make your head hurt for a different reason.”

“Huh?”

“You call Wallace. Tell him to be at my place in two hours. A night like tonight calls for –“

Veronica doesn’t understand how, but she knows exactly how Mac is going to finish that sentence. Her tone is almost unbelieving as she finishes in unison with Mac – “Chinese food and margaritas.”

_Where did that come from?_

“Exactly.” The relief from Mac at even this fraction of normality is palpable. “We’ll get the food. Tell Wallace to bring the booze.”

It’s probably not a good idea to get drunk two days after the hangover from hell, but _fuck it._ Veronica blankly nods as she hits speed dial three on her phone to call Wallace. She almost drops it when she sees Logan’s name come up but manages to disconnect the call after a single ring. “I –“ she trails off and looks up at Mac helplessly.

“What?” she asks. “He not there?”

Veronica looks down at the phone, glaring at it. She won’t be this person, even if she doesn’t fully understand who _THIS-Veronica_ is. If _THIS-Veronica_ really is her, just an older her, she needs to keep her shit together.

She looks back up at Mac and then down at her phone, scrolling through to find Wallace. “I want pudding cups. And oven s’mores.”

“Woah, tiger. Pace yourself.”

* * *

In the days leading up to graduation Veronica makes an appointment with her doctor who does little more than agree with Dr. Jacobs’ diagnosis. He also recommends therapy – all the therapy. A large part of her – the part that managed to deal with her mother leaving, sexual assault, and the death of her best friend on her own – doesn’t even consider it. But the larger part, the part she attributes to _THIS-Veronica_ , finds herself agreeing. Once she moves for grad school if her memories haven’t returned on their own, she tells him, she promises to start therapy.

The night after her appointment her dad comes over to the old apartment for dinner. It’s strange to think of it as her place without him there, but when he suggested maybe delaying moving in with Rosie she refused to consider it. (She was relieved to discover that _yes,_ she did in fact like Rosie. And apparently she was the one who introduced the two of them?) Besides, the living situation is temporary. She knows he’s coming mostly to check on her. Wallace and Mac have been doing it a lot, as well. Like they’re all afraid to leave her on her own for too long.

She doesn’t hear from Logan. Although technically he could be waiting for her response – ‘ _So I guess this is really happening.’_ That was the last thing he texted her.

Fitting into _THIS-Veronica’s_ life is relatively easy. It doesn’t feel foreign or uncomfortable. Every choice _THIS-Veronica’s_ made makes a certain kind of sense when she thinks about it. It’s easy enough that she doesn’t consider telling anyone about the large gap in her memory. Besides the Logan of it all, there’s nothing about her life that feels incongruous.

And even that, makes sense when –  

 _Nope, not thinking about it._ It’s been a conscious effort the past two weeks to _not_ think about Logan. Or to face her avoidance of that aspect of _THIS-Veronica’s_ life is rooted in pure fear. She has an almost dizzying level of curiosity as to how she ended up the kind of woman who accepted a proposal at the age of 22. But she won’t ask Wallace or her Dad. The artifacts in her room and the hundreds of emails exchanged between her and Logan are useful in helping her discover the nature of their relationship but provide little insight into how it all happened.

She nods at herself as she sprinkles more cheese on top of the lasagna. It’s a new recipe which really only means in addition to double the cheese they added pepperoni. Her dad pulls a pan of cheesy garlic bread out of the oven and gives a jubilant shout. “By Keith, I think he’s done it!”

Veronica shakes her head, smiling to herself. She could be happy here.

* * *

It’s graduation day and Veronica tries to tell herself not to feel guilty for getting to enjoy the fruits of _THIS-Veronica’s_ labor. It’s only been three weeks since she woke up with her memory gap and she’s becoming more certain each day that there isn’t _THAT-Veronica_ or _THIS-Veronica_. They’re both her. So, no, she might not remember the late night cram sessions, living off Cup-O-Noodles as she wrote term papers, and the general torture of it all, but she did endure a single finals week so she’s ready to celebrate.

After the ceremony, she meets up with Wallace, Parker (who, surprise!, is another friend she’s made, and also once dated Logan, too? – _so weird_ ), and Mac to take photos. Except while everyone else’s parents are there, plus Rosie, her dad is nowhere to be found.

“He said he’d be right back,” Rosie says with a shrug.

“Hold my cap,” she says, handing the mortarboard and tassel to Rosie. “I demand to be worshipped for my intellectual accomplishments.”

She knows he must be close by – there’s no way he’d miss an opportunity to embarrass her in front of her friends – so what could possibly be keeping ––

She rounds the corner and pulls back when she sees her dad with a hand on Logan’s shoulder, speaking quietly to him. For his part Logan is simply nodding as her dad talks, his gaze at his feet. She sees him occasionally mutter something in response. In Logan’s hand is a small wrapped parcel. Veronica doesn’t know what the gift is, but it’s wrapped in the same paper her dad used for the new cell phone he bought her. She takes another step back, afraid to be seen by either one of them, but doesn’t turn the corner.

She knows Mac and Wallace have both spent some time with Logan since the breakup – he placed third in the surfing competition she was supposed to go to – but neither one has volunteered much information. She doesn’t even know the questions she’d ask. Looking at her dad and Logan, she sees it in technicolor for the first time – the clear evidence that what she’s going through cost him something. And how she’s been pretending the past few weeks that that isn’t the case.

Her dad leans forward and gives Logan a hug and a pat on the back. When he pulls away he talks to Logan one more time. There’s some more nodding and what looks to Veronica like a ‘Thank you, Mr. Mars’ from Logan. She should leave, run before her dad or Logan spots her but she finds herself anchored in place.

Her dad sees her first and rolls his eyes back a bit, shaking his head like, “Okay, not sure what I was expecting.”

Logan turns and sees her standing there in her burgundy gown. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t look it. Instead, like it’s an instinct he can’t help, he smiles at her, the corners of his mouth ticking up a little. She finds herself smiling back, offering him a half wave as she does. He waves back then looks back down to his shoes and walks away.

Her dad slings an arm around her shoulder – pulls her close and kisses the crown of her head.

“Is he okay?” she asks.

He hesitates, sighing. She looks up at him and he nods. “He misses you, kid.” Because it’s her dad she knows it’s not meant to make her feel guilty or even change her mind. He doesn’t expect her to do anything, just wants to ensure she has all the facts.

“Yeah,” she says. “I get that.” It’s not a lie, because she strangely does. Her brain might not remember being in love with Logan but if the current fluttering in her stomach and lightheadedness is any indication, her heart certainly does.

“Oh, I forgot something,” her dad says, pulling away suddenly.

She frowns at him. “What?”

He bows down and stands back upright, repeating the motion as he waves his arms. “I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy.”

It only takes her a second before she gestures with her hands for him to continue his adulation, feigning humility. “Oh, stop, stop. Seriously, father, you are too much.”

He throws his arm back around her and they walk together to rejoin the group. She hopes Wallace and Mac are planning to celebrate with Logan tonight – hopes he has people who let him know how proud they are of what he accomplished. Even if it doesn’t make sense she’s one of them.

* * *

In the days following graduation she almost, for lack of a better phrase, forgets she has amnesia. The life she’s living, and the people she’s living it with make her forget. Planning for the six-week Eastern European backpacking adventure with Mac takes up most of her time. As does actually packing up the apartment (again). She plans to move the essentials to Mac’s before they leave and the non-essentials will get stored in Rosie’s garage before the big move to Palo Alto.

On her third trip to Target to pick up more packing tape she runs into Logan. It was bound to happen she figures. Neptune isn’t exactly a big town.

She didn’t grab a cart so her arms are bursting, holding the packing tape and a dozen other things she didn’t realize she needed but prove to be essential. As she reaches for a package of the trail mix with the M&Ms in it, the packing tape slips from her hand. She would leave it but it’s the one item she actually intended to buy. Instead she follows as it rolls out into the main aisle. As she’s working out how she’s going to reach for the tape without dropping everything else, a pair of flip flops come into her line of sight.

A tingling at the base of her spine tells her exactly who is standing there – and when it comes to Logan she hasn’t been able to suss out if these impulses (to smile at him, comfort him, make sure he’s okay) come from the Veronica she last remembers being or _THIS-Veronica._

“Need help, little lady?” he asks in a bad approximation of a southern drawl.

She would fan herself if she could but that would mean the dropping of more items. “I do declare.”

He bends down and picks up the tape, but rather than hand it back takes several more of the items out of her hands – the scissors dangling from one finger, mud face mask, recently acquired bag of trail mix, and box of garbage bags – and holds them.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s nothing,” he shrugs. “I was just about to leave. They don’t have the iced tea I like.”

She shakes her head at him. “You came to Target for a single item and are leaving without purchasing anything? What kind of rich person are you?”

“The very best kind.”

They walk towards the front in silence, Veronica internally vetoing several topics of conversation she wants to bring up with him. She knows they’re at risk of parting ways without actually saying anything. Rather than try to find the perfect thing to say she finally opts for simply saying _something._

“I never got a chance to say congrats.” He looks at her with a slight wrinkle in his brow. “Mac let it slip you qualified for a big competition next month. That’s really – that’s great, Logan.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up the slightest bit but he doesn’t offer her much more. “Thanks.”

She swallows down her nerves. “And, uh, do you know what you want to do now that we graduated?”

“I’m sorry, Veronica, what are we doing?”

It would be easy to pretend she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but if Logan can do the brave thing of being in her presence, then she can do the brave thing and be honest. “I don’t know. I – I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

 _He’s been waiting for me._ That show of faith makes her nauseated. “I’m not sure what to say.” They’re at the front of the store now and Logan gently sets the items in his hands down on the conveyor belt.

“Why did you leave that day?”

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t remember.” He frowns, already shaking his head at her answer. “No, I — I woke up and I couldn’t remember us dating, or how we fell in love, or you proposing and I – I had to leave. To try and clear my head. And I’ve tried, Logan. I’ve tried so hard. But I don’t remember.”

 _There._ She said it. She sounds certifiably insane, but it’s out there now.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Logan says.

She frowns. “What do you—?”

“No. It’s good for me to know I was the relationship equivalent of finding yourself in a career you find no actual fulfillment in.”

Her heart sinks. _He doesn’t get it._ “Logan, listen to me, that’s not what I meant.”

“Have a good trip.”

She nods, mutely, and drops the items on the conveyor belt watching him leave the store.

Her relationship with Logan is the one area of _THIS-Veronica’s_ life she hasn’t investigated too closely. At times she’s managed to convince herself she’s been noble by not examining it. But it’s left this big question mark when it comes to who they are to one another. Who she’s become and how her life has changed. And maybe, if she’s really going to accept this as her life, she can’t avoid it any longer.

* * *

She’s hanging backwards off the edge of the couch, her feet up in the air, a plate of french fries and corn dogs beside her that she occasionally dips into as she watches TV. It’s childish and not productive, but she’s indulging because it’s her birthday. It’s the one part about deferring enrollment to grad school that sucks – she spends a lot of time on her own as Mac works at her internship, her dad’s at the office, and Wallace works at the zoo day camp. _THIS-Veronica_ likely didn’t see this as a problem as it meant in the months leading up to moving away she’d be able to spend more time with Logan.

(She tried to get her dad to let her help out with some cases but the new investigator he’s training didn’t appreciate her _completely reasonable_ and professional suggestions so she’s been banished.)

Tonight she’s having dinner with her dad and Rosie. Mac and Wallace are apparently planning some big beach bonfire over the weekend. Those future plans don’t change the fact that she’s currently home alone on her birthday overindulging in junk food.

She’s working up the motivation to get up and off the couch (maybe she’ll go rescue Backup from Rosie’s house and be a semi-productive member of society) when the shadow of someone outside her apartment window causes her to sit upright. Whoever is out there is tall and they’re just kind of lingering. She watches as they walk towards her door, turn away, and then come back. She hears the sound of something being dropped off on her doorstep and then the shadow leaves. While it’s possible it’s just a delivery person who got turned around she knows in her bones that’s not the case.

Veronica opens the door and on her doorstep is a present wrapped in bright green wrapping paper with a large white bow on top. She picks it up, sets it inside, and doesn’t even fully process what she’s doing as she runs outside. “Logan?” she calls. She catches him walking down the stairs and he looks up at her.

“Why didn’t you knock?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“Yeah. Well.” He scratches behind his ear. “I should –”

“Want to come in for a little bit? I’ve been by myself all day and am going a little stir crazy.”

It would be completely within his right to turn her down. If he does she’s fully prepared to use the ‘but it’s my birthday’ card. Thankfully she doesn’t need to. He sighs, almost sagging into it, and nods.

“Just for a little bit.”

“Great.”

He follows her into the apartment. When he takes in _Muppet Treasure Island_ playing on the TV and the plate of french fries he chuckles quietly to himself.

“What?” she asks. “I’m indulging my youth.”

“Whatever you want birthday girl.”

They stare at one another and Veronica feels her cheeks warm the slightest bit. “Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll get us something to drink.”

There’s not much in the way of available beverages so she makes an executive decision and prepares a cup of hot chocolate for each of them. She spills some right on the edge of the kitchen floor as her feet transition from linoleum to carpet and swears under her breath, relieved to see it all spilled on the linoleum. He takes the mug from her with a slightly bemused look.

“It’s 80 degrees outside.”

“It’s my birthday,” she repeats. “Drink up.”

Sipping the beverage provides a welcome distraction for both of them. They sit beside one another on the couch, a careful amount of space between, as they halfheartedly watch the movie playing. When the relative silence stretches long past uncomfortable, Veronica eyes the present Logan brought and jumps up thankful for the opportunity to do something.

“My present!” she says.

“You don’t have to open it right now.”

“Of course I do.”

She hefts the package into her lap as she sits back on the couch, her body angled towards Logan. He mirrors her position, setting his mug down on the coffee table and resting his arm on the back of the couch as he watches her. She rips the bow off, dramatically flinging it behind her and then tears into the paper. The box is taped up and as she reaches for her keys on the coffee table Logan starts to fidget.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not returnable so I offer cash as reparations.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the offer, Daddy Warbucks.” Logan blinks, barely containing his smile, and Veronica grimaces. “I _really_ wish I hadn’t called you daddy.”

She slices through the tape and opens the box to reveal a rich brown leather bag. It’s a beautiful piece – the silver buckles and hardware shiny, and the leather is of obviously high quality and incredibly sturdy. She opens the bag to peek inside and it’s the precise moment Logan speaks that she realizes exactly what he got her.

“Yours was falling apart, and I figured with all the pictures you were going to take on your trip you could use a replacement. If you don’t like it –”

Veronica cuts him off with a shake of her head. “This is perfect, Logan. Thank you.” She runs a hand over the bag and is already planning how her camera, film, and lenses will fit inside perfectly. It’s not something she’d ever buy for herself but she wasn’t flattering him – it’s perfect. “Why are you here, Logan?”

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

She looks up to find him appraising her, a slight crease in his brow. It’d be easy to throw out a quip — remind him she asked a question first — but she tamps down the impulse. She tightly clutches the shoulder strap of the bag, bracing for the question, and nods.

“When I saw you at Target you were being literal, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

He nods, kind of sad and resigned. “Do you remember how we met?”

“Right after my soccer game in seventh. You met me and Lilly for pizza.”

“What about the first time Lilly and I convinced you to drink. What happened after?”

“I chugged a wine cooler, made myself sick, and threw up.”

“Then you did it again just to prove you were tough.”

Veronica sets the bag on the coffee table and faces Logan head on. “What is this about?”

He ignores her question and scoots a little closer. “Where did I propose?”

It takes everything in her to maintain eye contact. Her stomach churns a little because she understands what’s happening now. Logan might not believe her but he wants to. “I don’t remember.”

“Why did we break up freshman year?” At her blank stare, he frowns. “The first or second time. Either one.”

“I don’t know.”

“You weren’t even going to apply to the grad program at Stanford. Do you remember what changed your mind?” Veronica shakes her head. “But you know who I am?”

“Of course I do.”

“But not us dating, right?” At her silence, he nods. “What do you remember? About you and me, I mean.”

Veronica clears her throat. _This is going to be unpleasant._ “We were friends. And then Lilly died and we weren’t. The last thing I really remember we were fighting over a student body election.”

“High school? The last thing you remember is junior year of high school?” Veronica nods and Logan flops himself back on the couch at her confirmation. “Damn, Veronica. No wonder you freaked. I’m surprised you didn’t tase me.”

She huffs out a laugh and leans back on the couch, turning her head to watch as Logan works out the information she’s dropped. “If I had access to it, I might have.” She pulls her knees up to the couch, folding her body in and bringing herself closer to Logan.

“How are you doing this okay?”

She shrugs. “My doctor says there’s not really anything I can do about it. Just have to be patient and try to jog my memory and hope it comes.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?”

She looks away and focuses instead on a loose thread on the couch cushion. She twines it tight around her finger until it snaps. “Think back to who you were in high school, Logan.” His face practically goes grey at the mention. “Now imagine you wake up and that’s who you remember being. How would you have coped?”

“Not well.”

“Look, I know it doesn’t make sense, but I’m having a hard time believing this –” she gestures around the apartment, to Logan, to herself “– is my life now. I mean, it’s not perfect. And a lot of it from what I gathered has sucked, but I don’t feel like I’m coming out of my skin the same way I did back then. It just doesn’t feel all the way real.”

“So why me?” he asks.

“Why you what?”

“Why did you banish me from your life? I mean, junior year? You can’t have many memories of Wallace. Or Mac. _God_. You wouldn’t have even met Parker. I could have helped you, but for some reason —”

She interrupts his rant by pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder. “You scare me, Logan.”

“I scare you?”

“It’s my turn to ask you a question,” Veronica says. She takes a deep breath and clenches the fabric of Logan’s shirt before releasing it. “Do you know what happened to me at Shelly Pomeroy’s party?” He maintains eye contact as he nods. “Does my dad know?” _Do I want to know right now?_

“No,” Logan says. “You’ve thought about telling him but haven’t ever figured out what you’d say.”

“And that’s why I was scared.” Logan looks down at their hands. They’re scant inches apart from one another and Veronica watches as he slowly reaches out with his fingers to curl them around her hand. She lets out a deep breath. “I knew, without really knowing how or why, that you could crack me open. And I didn’t want to give you the chance.”

She looks up at him and he smiles. It’s a small little thing, barely stirring the corners of her mouth, but it makes her smile in return. He squeezes her hand.  

“What do you want to know?” he asks. She hadn’t said anything about wanting to know more, but it makes her throat tight that he knows. _Cracked open._

Still, she deflects. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t have a list?”

She bites her lip, looking away. _Fine._ She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head – partly at herself, a lot at Logan – and stands. “I’ll go get it.”

Once back in the living room, she hands the list to Logan and then detours to the kitchen for snacks. She continues to ignore the spilled hot chocolate, grabs a bag of chips from the cupboard, and reaches for a couple apples and a jar of peanut butter.

“You’ve made good progress,” Logan says as she comes back into the living room. She hands him the apples and, as she suspects, he pulls his pocket knife out of his jeans pocket. He slices off a piece and hands it to her.

“How are you so okay with this?” she asks.

“I wouldn’t say I’m okay with it.”

“Then what are you?”

He bites into a slice of apple, considering her question. “You wouldn’t know, seeing as you’re living a relatively _Long Kiss Goodnight_ life, but this is not the strangest thing to have happened during our courtship.”

“Thanks, Logan.”

He holds up the list. “What do you say? Tackle a question a day? You and Mac leave next week, right?”

Veronica nods, and takes the list back. Now comes the decision of which one to start with. “Okay, first question.” She pulls the horseshoe necklace out from under her shirt. “Did you give this to me?” Logan nods. “What’s it mean?”

“About a year ago you had a really bad night at work.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough that your dad didn’t want you working with him anymore. At first all you would tell me was ‘ _I was a little unlucky._ ’”

She holds the charm out, rubbing her thumb over the etchings on the front. “So you got me some luck?”

“Well that and signed you up for shooting lessons.”

“Like for a gun?” She blinks at him and he stares back. “I can shoot a gun?”

“Quite well, actually.”

There are follow up questions Veronica wants to ask related to the fact that she is, apparently, a _gun owner_ but it’s nothing she wants to wade into at the moment. “Did it work?” she asks, holding up the charm.

“Seemed to.” He pauses, seemingly considering his answer. “I mean, aside from the whole _amnesia_ thing.”

“Well, obviously.” She settles back into the couch cushions. “One more question?” Logan nods. “How’d _Duncan_ manage to find himself wanted by the FBI?”

“See that’s interesting because I’ve asked you the same and you tend to evade the question.”

She opens the bag of chips, a little proud of herself despite the hint of annoyance in Logan’s voice. “Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, and reaches into the chip bag. “I’ll tell you what I _think_ I know about the Case of the Disappearing Donut.”

“Five bucks says it’s the IT guy with halitosis.”

Much to her disappointment Logan doesn’t seem to know much about how Duncan got out of Neptune. He is not so shy about his belief that she had something to do with it. He gives her the highlights of Duncan’s life, but it’s the gaps Logan can’t fill that leave her the most curious.

“So, we never figured out how to get it back, did we?”

“Get what –?”

“Our little gang. You, me, Duncan. We never really trusted each other again, huh?”

He shrugs. “There are reasons for that. But you and I were doing better this go of it.”

“Until I messed it up.”

“Hey,” Logan says, and reaches for her hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah.” She’s not so sure she believes him but she looks down at the list. So, that’s one question, but there’s a dozen more. “You proposed?”

She watches Logan’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “We weren’t going to start planning a wedding or anything. But with you going to grad school and my internship at the paper, we wanted to. It was your idea, actually.”

“I told you I wanted to get married?”

Logan smiles, running a finger over the knuckles of one of her hands. “In your way.”

“So how did this–” she holds up their hands, fingers interlocked, “–happen the first time?”

“You mind if we save that for tomorrow?”

She drops his hand. “No, yeah, sure. That’s fine. I mean if you don’t want to –”

“–it’s not that I don’t want to. I was supposed to meet Dick like thirty minutes –”

“–I’m the one who kept you and –”

“–not a problem, I wanted to see–”

“–you went out of your way on my birthday–”

“–too proud to say I’ve missed you.”

Logan’s admission gets them both to stop their rambling. He smiles, then, in such a warm and open way it makes everything buzzing in Veronica’s brain just stop for a second.

She doesn’t know what it is that compels her, exactly. Truth be told, Veronica (in every reality, it seems) has a bad habit of ‘act first, deal with consequences later.’ She places a hand on Logan’s shoulder and he goes very still, his eyes charting the details of her face.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

She kisses him, quick and fleeting at the corner of his mouth then pulls back to gauge his reaction.

If asked for a reason she wouldn’t be able to say _why_ she did it. But there’s a piece of her that’s missed Logan this whole time. She’s already thinking the kiss was a mistake ( _or maybe it was just very bad?_ ) because he’s still looking at her. After another second of his quiet appraisal she rolls her eyes a bit at herself, shaking her head, and moves to stand up from the couch. She doesn’t get far, though, as Logan grabs her hand and pulls her back down.

“Logan, what –?”

He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close as he tilts his mouth over hers. There’s a second where she doesn’t know what to do, but then it’s more than natural to wrap her arms around his shoulders. And he is so much taller than her that this angle is totally working for them.

He brings one of his hands up to brush the hair away from her face. It would be a totally natural moment to maybe stop this, end the sucking of the faces, but they each take a little breath and go in again. Logan’s hands are doing this pretty great thing at the small of her back, just barely skimming the skin of her lower back. It makes her want him even closer, so she flattens her hand against his shoulder blade, pressing their chests together. _God_ this feels good.

Everything slows down as Logan runs his knuckles along her cheek, pulling away as he lightly sucks her upper lip, which – _okay_ – she _did not_ realize was a thing she liked but _man_ does it work for her. She blinks up at him, knows her eyes are wide and shell shocked. Logan looks practically giddy, and then she sees it –

Not this Logan sitting in front of her, and not the Veronica she is now, but from some other time. They’re on a balcony and his hair is shorter, and his hands are on her waist, and –

“Veronica?”

“Did I kiss you at the Camelot?”

He grins and then goes in for another kiss, this one just a quick press of the lips as their smiles mostly get in the way.

“Yeah.”

She groans. “My first real memory of us does not paint me in the best light.”

He smooths the hair back from either side of her face and kisses the tip of her nose. “I disagree.”

“You would.”

It’s tempting to pull Logan in for another kiss, because _yeah buddy_ , she enjoyed the first one. If the secret to getting all her memories back is making out she’s not complaining. It’s a big enough change, though, that she’s suffering from emotional whiplash.

Logan seems to realize it, because he trails his hands down her arms, gives each hand a quick squeeze and then lets go.

“I’m not expecting anything, Veronica.”

“I know you’re not.”

He stands up from the couch. “Let me know what time works for you tomorrow.”

“I will.” She stands up and follows him to the door. “Thanks for my present. Really, Logan. It’s kind of the best.”

“Thanks for asking me to come in.”

When he opens the door, there’s a feeling of panic that rises up in Veronica’s throat. That can’t be it. He can’t just be leaving. “Wait,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“We should get a picture together.”

“What?”

“To commemorate the day.” She’s pulling him away from the door before he can respond further.

“Veronica —”

“Need I remind you it’s my birthday?”

“I think you just did.”

She drops his hand and collects the remnants of their snack and mugs from the coffee table. “Let me take care of this and you can get yourself camera ready.”

“I’m always camera ready.”

Veronica turns around, walking backwards into the kitchen, so he can see her eye roll in all its glory.

And really, she should have expected it. The day was going far better than she could have hoped — a heretofore unacknowledged knot of anxiety dislodging itself from her chest at merely talking to Logan — so of course she steps in the puddle of hot chocolate on the floor of the kitchen. For a split second she doesn’t know what’s happening, her stomach lurching as both her feet leave the floor at the same time. A distant part of her brain tells her to pull the mugs into her chest, remnants of cooled hot chocolate spilling on her shirt, and then she’s on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

“Veronica!”

“I’m okay,” she mumbles. She doesn’t know exactly why she says it because she’s definitely not okay. There are spots in her line of sight as she stares up at the ceiling, and then Logan comes into view, his eyes all crinkled and concerned as he leans over her.

He reaches a hand under her head, cradling it gently, but the movement is enough to intensify the spinning. Logan’s face goes a little fuzzy at the edges and she reaches a hand up to try to stop his head from moving so she can see him clearly.

“I missed you, too,” she says.

“I’m here.”

She closes her eyes, and she hears Logan say her name again, and again, and again, but each time he does he sounds further away, until his voice is so faint it’s barely an echo.

* * *

“Veronica?”

Veronica shakes her head against the loudness of Logan’s voice, trying to press her head into her pillow to dull the throbbing. Did he move her into her bedroom? _God._ How embarrassing. Not only did she confess to him her delusions of amnesia but she went and practically fainted at his feet.

“Veronica? Sweetie.” And it’s the repetition of her name paired with the term of endearment that has her realizing it isn’t Logan speaking.

“Shh,” she says.

“Sweetie. Open your eyes.”

It takes another minute for the words her dad speaks to make sense but once they do she forces her eyelids open. The light is enough to make her want to close them again, but her dad places a hand over her eyes, shielding her in part from the light. Why are hospital lights always so bright?

“Hey dad,” she says, and then cringes at the loudness of her own voice. “Ow.” She presses her fingertips to her forehead and is only mildly surprised to find a bandage there. But that doesn’t make sense. If any part of her head hit the kitchen floor it would have been the back.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Just a scratch,” he says, but she can tell he’s underplaying his concern. “But I told them to give you a few stitches to make you feel cool.”

“Stitches?” Her dad nods. “Well that’s great. Where’s Logan?”

“Logan?”

“Didn’t he call you?”

“No, Vice Principal Clemmons called. Was Logan there when you fell?”

She squints her eyes, both against the light and the line of questioning. Nothing is making sense. Why would her former vice principal call her dad? Did he move into their apartment complex?

“I don’t remember,” she says. “Was there hot chocolate?”

He frowns but leans forward and places a light kiss on her temple, smoothing her hair back. “I don’t think so, but if you want hot chocolate, I’ll get you hot chocolate.”

The doctor comes in shortly after she wakes up and reminds her dad (but tells her for the first time) she’s suffered from a fairly severe concussion. Veronica figures out, after the mention of school and a staircase, she’s back to the reality she remembers most clearly. As her dad and doctor talk back and forth Veronica tries to figure out what she experienced. Was it all a dream? A very strange, mundane, detailed, technicolor dream? It didn’t feel like a dream. It was all so ordinary - studying for finals, and grocery shopping, and misplacing her keys and spending hours searching for them only to find them on the key ring.

The more she focuses on the details of the maybe dream world the more it starts to slip away. She knows Duncan wasn’t there, but she can’t remember how she knows or where he went, only that the thought doesn’t even cause a pang of sadness to form in her chest. There was Wallace, and she thinks she had another friend, too? Maybe a couple of them? Their faces start to blur, but the absolute certainty she was loved and cared for doesn’t abate. And there was Logan.

Thinking his name causes her to free associate so many conflicting things she actually lets out a little groan.

“What’s wrong?” her dad asks.

“My head hurts.”

“Well, that’s what you get for getting a concussion.”

“I thought hard heads run in the family.”

“Hard brains do not.”

She’s discharged from the hospital later that night and her dad has pages of notes and brochures about caring for someone with a concussion. From what Veronica gathers it’ll require a lot of sleeping and resting and then half days at school until the doctor gives her the all clear to exert herself more. She’s not to look at screens, either her phone or television, for at least two days. In short, it is torture. But there’s enough to keep herself occupied as she lays in bed trying to remember every detail of the reality that felt so real. She finds herself rubbing her thumb over the finger where she found the engagement ring that first morning. A part of her wishes she’d kept the ring longer – long enough to leave the impression around her finger. Maybe then she’d know if any of it was real.

Her dad makes her pancakes the next morning, all the blinds and curtains to the apartment shut tight, as she sits on the carpet sorting through all her belongings sent home from the hospital. These are her things but it feels like she hasn’t seen them in years.

She takes out the remnants of the longsleeve shirt she was wearing the day of the accident, tossing it aside to throw away given the hole in the elbow, and the blood splatters. The choker from the day will eventually make it back into her jewelry box but for now she leaves it in the bottom of the bag. Her favorite lip balm isn’t in her messenger bag, and she searches for it in the plastic hospital bag when she wraps her fingers around the choker, _again._ Except —

Except the chain from her choker isn’t this long.

And once she realizes that, she just _knows_ deep in the most certain part of her gut what she has in her hand.

The horseshoe is just as shiny as she remembers and she rubs her thumb over the _Tiffany and Co._ writing, smiling at the memory of a man who loved her and wanted to bring her luck. There’s not a single part of this day that makes sense to her but she loops the necklace around her neck anyway.

“Blueberries or chocolate chips?”

“Both.” Veronica tucks the charm of the necklace safely beneath her shirt.

She convinces her dad to let her stop by school the next day to check in with each of her teachers. He drops her off on his way to a client meeting and promises to be back in an hour. She feels for the horseshoe tangled up with Lilly’s star necklace, both resting against her clavicle, as she walks into the journalism room.

It’s not difficult to ignore the jeers, whispers, and snickers behind her back as she talks with Ms. Dent – the past two years have prepared her for this moment. As she listens to her teacher she is hyper aware of Logan’s proximity. She has little idea of what she’s going to say to him but the need to see him was an itch under her skin she couldn’t ignore.

“You can make it up once you’re back, Veronica. Your dad already —”

“I can handle it.”

“I would never imply otherwise, but you just —” Veronica braces herself to hear Ms. Dent inform her of what an ordeal she’s been through when Dick charges into the room with little regard for the fact he’s not in their class. “Excuse me, Mr. Casablancas.”

“Oh, no worries, Ms. Dent. You’re not bothering me.” He makes his way to Logan, slouched low in his chair. “Dude, you’re famous.”

Veronica watches as Logan’s face lights up with expectation but as Dick shows him something on the screen his complexion goes pallid. He sinks back into his seat. She stops listening to Ms. Dent and finds herself drifting over to stand beside Logan.

In the video a cheering Logan encourages two men as they fight on the beach. She’s not entirely sure of what she’s watching but Logan at the center of it doesn’t lead her to think very highly of whatever it is. He looks up at her and for a second she sees it, _fear_ , before he wipes it away and clicks out from the web browser.

He points at her head. “Tony Montana, eat your heart out.”

Veronica reaches up and presses a hand to her bandage. “You should see the other kid,” she says, but doesn’t look away. Logan appears to be doing his level best to ignore her but then looks up, annoyed.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

He waves to the screen. “Finishing my opinion piece about how voting for Wanda ‘The Socialist’ Varner will lead to the destruction of us all. Since her campaign manager got hospitalized her numbers have tanked.”

“Stop.”

“What? Sensitive subject?”

The sound that comes out of Veronica’s throat is closely akin to a growl. “Stop,” she repeats, then grabs Logan by the collar and pulls as hard as she can. Logan has always towered over her, so she knows it’s only surprise that gets him up and out of the chair. “Come with me.” She yanks him by the shirt sleeve.

Logan plays up to the cheers as they move through the journalism classroom, likely making a crude gesture behind her as he does, but she doesn’t stop moving.

“Why, Veronica,” he says, “just what will Duncan say?”

“Shut up,” she says, and then pushes him up against the wall. “For once in your life shut up.” This is usually when the two of them would spar and trade barbs. He would insult her mother and she would express disdain for everything he is but instead they just remain in one another’s space.

There’s a precise moment when Logan stops acting and his face almost transforms, losing its edges and sharpness.

“What do you want from me, Veronica?”

“I want you back.” He stares at her, his breathing and even. “Back in my life.”

“How bad was that head injury?”

“Shut up.”

He huffs out a deep breath, shaking his head. She prepares herself for the worst but he just looks sad. “Why would you want that?”

“You’re my friend. And you’re better than this,” she says evenly.

“What —?”

She cuts him off with another shove to his chest. The horseshoe around her neck is her proof he’s better than this. She knows he’s not that person yet but she wants it for him (for herself). “Be better than this.”

She thinks he might try to storm off again. Instead: “How do you know?”

There are too many ways she could answer that question. Those that come to mind most readily are derived from a reality she may have ( _god, is she insane?_ ) time traveled to in some sort of weird concussed time space continuum leap. But she has other reasons, too.

When she doesn’t answer he softens even more, his body sagging enough to rest on the wall behind him. “We going to exchange friendship bracelets now?”

“No. I’ve been in the hospital. All braiding came to a swift and unexpected end.”

He appears amused by her answer, seemingly despite himself. “Say you’re right —?”

“I’m right.” She playfully smacks his shoulder. “See, I knew you’d come around.”

He rolls his eyes, and it all feels so familiar that a wave of simultaneous melancholy and joy rushes over her. “So what do I do now?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You’re a smart guy. Figure it out.”

He smiles at that, wide and innocent in a way she hasn’t seen in months.

“Yeah. I can do that.” He points to her head. “That could have been bad.”

“I guess I got lucky.”

Logan stands up, shuffling towards her half a step. “Look, Veronica —”

“Veronica?” She turns to see her dad coming down the hallway, visitor badge on display. “Everything okay here?”

Her heart’s pounding and she _really_ wants to hear whatever it was Logan wanted to say. Instead she nods. “Yeah. Logan and I were just talking about an article he’s going to take until I’m able to come back.”

“Is that right?” her dad asks. “Logan?”

“Yeah,” he nods, looking down at her. “That’s right, Mr. Mars.”

Veronica hikes her messenger bag up onto her shoulder, stepping away from Logan as she does. “Can we get In-N-Out on the way home?”

“How long do you think you can milk this for?”

“I’m sorry,” Veronica says, “are _you_ the one recovering from a traumatic brain injury?” Logan’s watching her as she walks down the hallway, of this she is certain, but she doesn’t look back.

Her dad waits to say anything else until they’re back in the car. “You and Logan haven’t been hanging out much lately.” It’s the first time he’s made direct mention of her change in social station. Well, as direct as she and her dad are comfortable with these days.

“Veronica?”

She closes her eyes, resting her head on the seat behind her. “Think we can invite him over for lasagna this week?”

“If that’s what you want,” he says slowly.

She doesn’t know who Logan is to her right now — if he’s closer to the jeering boy from the video on the beach or the man she forgot, remembered, and then left again. She has no idea what is real and what is merely a fantasy she concocted.

There’s a charm hanging around her neck that would have her believe the answer isn’t as clear as she’d like.

What she wants is the feeling she had in her dream to be with her always — the feeling of being known, and loved, and so certain of herself. She knows she needs Logan in her life for that to happen. Rather than explain all that, she nods.

“Yeah. That’s what I want.”


End file.
